


Slow Down Now (the secret's out)

by LadySlytherin



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek Hale, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, BAMF Stiles, Bottom Derek Hale/Top Stiles Stilinski, Demon Stiles Stilinski, Derek Hale's Manpain, Emotional Hurt, Folklore, How Do I Tag, Hurt No Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Past Sexual Abuse, Post-Season/Series 02 AU, Sorry Not Sorry, Whump, brief mention of suicidal thoughts, but bastardized, past trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-31
Updated: 2020-01-31
Packaged: 2021-02-25 09:29:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22493848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadySlytherin/pseuds/LadySlytherin
Summary: Stiles Stilinski was more than what everyone thought. So much more. He always had been. He'd promised his mother he would never tell anyone, but then, he hadn't counted on falling in love with an alpha werewolf.Now that he had, Stiles knew what he had to do. He had to tell Derek the truth; he had to tell Derekeverything.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 85
Kudos: 536





	Slow Down Now (the secret's out)

**Author's Note:**

> And now for something _completely different._ XD
> 
> If you've come here after reading _'I'd Do Anything (for you)'_ \- my most recently completed Sterek fic - then please allow me to direct your eyes to the tags, just for a moment. Please be aware that this is not the same sort of happy, fluffy piece as that. Everyone who's cool with that, please proceed. ^_^
> 
> I actually wrote this a couple years back. The original intent was to post it along with two very separate - but equally plausible - endings. However, I've decided I rather like ending it the way it currently is. It's ambiguous. Everything is undecided. Nothing is certain. And that suits the tone of the story, overall, better than any ending I could have written; better than the two I'd originally planned, either separately or combined.
> 
> Now, I'm not making any promises here, but there _is_ a good chance that, at some point and when inspiration strikes, I'll sit down and actually write out the two endings I'd originally planned. Obviously, if I do, I'll post them. But, for the moment - and the foreseeable future - this fic will remain as it is. I'm asking everyone to respect that and not harangue me for more. Seriously, a bunch of people demanding I "finish" something I've marked as completed is the surest way to make me avoid ever writing in that verse again, so just...please don't do it. It jams up my brain and makes me resent the work in question.
> 
> I know it's an ambiguous/open ending. That's a deliberate choice. I tagged it that way, even. So if you can't handle that sort of question mark at the end of a story, don't read it.
> 
> As-ever, comments are love and make my day. I read - and reply to - every single one, and I cherish them all. ❤️
> 
> ~ Sly

Stiles never had any intention of telling anyone the truth. Not because he was inherently dishonest, despite what someone might think if they _did_ know the truth. No, he simply kept it to himself - planned to _always_ keep it to himself - because he never expected anyone to be able to understand. How could they? Stiles had grown up 100% certain that _no one_ would ever be able to accept the truth. Stiles barely accepted it himself.

There had only been one person who’d know what Stiles was - what he’d always been - and Claudia Stilinski had taken that truth to her grave. Or, well...very nearly. In her final weeks of life, she’d ranted and raved about the _demon child_ she’d born and how he was the cause of her madness and impending death. Thankfully - for Stiles, at least - no one believed the ravings of a dementia patient, deathbed or not. Not even the Argents had paid her any heed - if word had even reached them of her rantings, though Stiles suspected it had - and so he’d remained safe despite the hunters in town. And, eventually, the hunters had left and Stiles had settled into breathing easily. Even when they returned, Stiles never _truly_ worried. No one alive knew what he was, so no one would ever _dream_ of hunting him.

Claudia, of course, had _always_ known. She’d feared it the moment the life growing in her womb had fallen still, no longer kicking out against hers and Noah’s hands. She’d suspected as her belly grew rounder still, despite the way she could feel no life inside her. And then, after more than a week of nothing, the kicking had started again - fiercer and stronger than ever. That was when she’d been _sure._ Those last few weeks, she’d felt the madness creeping into her mind and she’d _known_ , in the way only a mother could. She had grown up on Slavic and Belarusian folklore. She knew what she would give birth to, with a certainty that terrified her, and she’d been helpless to put an end to it; to kill the thing inside her body. She had known the consequences of continuing the pregnancy. She had been certain the thing residing in her womb would claim not only her sanity but her life as well. Knew it would feed on her, like a parasite, long after she birthed it, until there was nothing left of her. But she’d made her choice, unable to dim the joy and love in Noah’s eyes when he talked about their child.

When the thing was born and placed in Claudia’s arms, pale and still and eerily calm for something so new to the world, she named him Mścisław and found herself loving him. As the baby grew into a toddler and then a child, her love for him grew as well. So did the madness inside her, but she’d expected _that._ Mścisław was long-limbed and graceless, though he was fast and strong and fierce. He had energy like she’d never seen and an ability to hyperfocus and absorb information like a sponge. His tawny eyes were wide and innocent-looking, the most deceptive thing about him, though if his temper spiked they grew dark and unfathomable. Claudia sometimes wondered how Noah never seemed to notice, but thought maybe his ignorance of the supernatural prevented him from understanding what he was seeing. She saw no reason to shatter his illusions.

The rest of her child - or the thing that her child had _become_ while still in the womb - was sin incarnate, despite his young age. She regretted sometimes that she would never see him grow to adulthood; never see his beauty fully realized. Claudia took an odd sense of pride in having helped create the thing she called Mścisław - the thing she called _son_ \- despite her innate fear of him. And he _was_ beautiful, though it was hard to see in the childish lines of his face and form. It was there, though, in his bone structure, if one knew to look for it. His wide, guileless eyes that were like amber and gilt. The thick, rich, chestnut hair that was so soft it made her want to stroke and pet. The full, pouting mouth that was shades too dark for someone as fair-skinned as her porcelain Mścisław - her son usually looked like he’d swiped lipstick across his mouth. Beauty marks dotted his skin, all over, and Claudia knew his too-long legs and awkwardly stringy child’s body would grow into something lithe and slender and enticing.

When Claudia had realized she was dying - that her time was nearly up - she’d taken the time to educate Mścisław on what he was. She made it clear that protecting himself was of the utmost importance, and the best way to do that was to _never tell anyone._ She warned him of hunters, and other creatures of myth and legend, and even mere humans who would do their best to destroy him if they knew what he was. 

And of course, Mścisław - who never gave his true name out, for a variety of reasons, and went by the nickname of Stiles instead - had taken his mother’s words to heart and breathed not a single word. Not to his grieving father, partly out of fear that Noah would never forgive him for making Claudia pay for _his_ life with her own. Not to Scott, who was the sweetest and kindest and dopiest person Stiles had ever met and who he feared would be repulsed by the truth of Stiles’ nature. He’d never planned on marrying - the biggest reason behind choosing the unattainable _Lydia Martin_ as his lifelong “crush” - and had no intention of fathering children, so what reason could there ever be to tell the truth? And even if he did...who would ever believe him? Later, he knew he’d never be able to confess to the pack, either. Because even once the supernatural became something he _could_ openly discuss with the people around him, Stiles knew holding his tongue was the only option. Or at least, the only option that guaranteed his safety.

Deaton, damnable druid that he was, had of course sensed the power inside of Stiles. But, because Stiles had taken great pains from a very young age to _hide,_ the druid saw only a _spark._ Saw only the barest hint of the power Stiles was capable of, and believed he was seeing all that existed inside Stiles. Stiles had never dared to use his power, fearing what might happen if he did. Fearing what he might _become._ But Stiles had always known when evil lurked inside someone, and though he tried his best to warn others - like with Matt, who’d rubbed Stiles wrong for a very long time - no one ever believed the _human._ Stiles bit his tongue so hard it almost bled, but kept himself in control by the barest of margins. _Safety first._ Always.

Then Scott turned pleading eyes on him, and Stiles gave in and reached inside himself, using the tiniest bit of what he had to close the mountain ash barrier; to trap the Kanima. To trap _Jackson._ But then, of course, there was the fact that Scott had been dying inside that barrier and Derek had demanded he open it again and Stiles had done so, knowing he had no choice and silently hoping everyone was too distracted to notice what he was - to notice how he smelled, or felt, or _whatever_ might give him away when he used his power. And halfway through the summer after that whole mess, Stiles used a _tiny push_ of that power - harder to resist now that he’d already done so - to help Derek find his missing betas and, in the process, his long-presumed-dead baby sister.

If another small nudge had gotten the pack - even those who really _weren’t_ pack, like Scott - through the showdown with the Alpha pack...well, that was no one’s business but his. Because Erica and Boyd and even the newly found Cora were safely back under Derek’s protection. And Peter was still a creeper, but he’d toned down a little with death and the resultant resurrection. And Isaac was slowly bringing Scott into the pack, much to Derek’s apparent delight. And Jackson had slipped in as well, in the wake of the Kanima-thing, bringing Lydia - who was apparently a banshee - with him. And Stiles tagged along for the ride, touted as the _token human,_ which he took a bit of umbrage at despite knowing he’d never correct them.

And really, he _wasn’t going to._ Not ever. Because there were some things you kept to yourself, no matter what, because you knew that no one would ever understand. This... _this_ was one of those things.

~*~*~*~

The day Derek kissed Stiles for the first time, it ought to have been earth-shattering. And, in some ways, Stiles supposed it was. But he’d just passed his eighteenth birthday, and they’d been saving each other’s skins for far too long to be anything less than friends, and Stiles had been officially pack for nearly as long, and...well, it wasn’t surprising so much as _inevitable._ Stiles had known that, sooner or later, he and Derek would stop circling and crash into each other. So when it happened, it felt nothing like surprise and everything like _finally._

They went on dates, and Stiles learned that Derek blushed easily and trusted slowly and shared only a little at a time because if he shared too much at once it was like he couldn't _breathe_ through the grief. Stiles understood that sense of loss keenly. After all, when he was eight years old, he’d lost the only person who’d ever really seen _him,_ and who’d loved him anyway. Stiles understood Derek in a way he imagined very few others could. And he loved every part of the alpha werewolf, even the broken pieces. Maybe _especially_ the broken pieces.

It was after the first time they had sex that Stiles realized he was considering telling Derek. He fell asleep to the sound of the werewolf’s breathing, wrapped securely around Derek Hale as the _big spoon,_ and knew that the man who’d just made himself vulnerable to Stiles in the most physically intimate way possible was who he wanted to spend his life with. And he knew Derek trusted him, with every secret and weakness he had. He knew Derek had pushed past every wall and barrier he’d ever built to reach out to Stiles, and Stiles felt the only thing he could do to repay that was to return the favor.

As much as it scared him to consider, Stiles knew Derek deserved the truth. More than that, Stiles _wanted_ to tell him the truth. He wanted Derek to see _him._ He wanted to know that Derek really did love every bit of him, the way he loved every bit of Derek.

So, the next morning, Stiles broke his silence.

~*~*~*~

“There’s something you should know.” Stiles said, when Derek was barely awake.

The alpha blinked sleepily at his mate - and for all of the newness of this thing with Stiles, Derek was certain that their three months would turn into three years and then three decades - then smiled. Stiles smelled like anxiety, but that wasn’t unusual for the teen so Derek thought nothing of it. “M’kay.” He murmured, turning onto his side to face Stiles more fully. “Everything okay?”

“No. Yes. I...I don’t know.” Stiles’ teeth sank into his full lower lip, starkly white against the lush, dark curve of it before he sighed and admitted quietly. “I’m hoping it will be - that _we_ will be - once you know the truth. Because I love you, Derek. So much it scares me, sometimes. And I...I don’t _ever_ want to lie to you.”

“You couldn't lie to me.” Derek pointed out, though he was a little more awake now. Because Stiles scent had gone sharply sour with nerves and it wasn’t pleasant; it made Derek wary. “I’d hear it.”

Stiles took a trembling breath, then said. “My name is James Bond.” His heart didn’t skip. “I’m twenty-five.” Again, no telltale jump to his heart, though there _should have been._ “I love curly fries.” And that time, there was a little uptick in Stiles’ heart, though Derek knew the teen was telling the truth on that statement.

He sat up in the bed, edging back from Stiles just a little. “I don’t understand how you’re doing that. You’re lying, and not lying, but your heart...it’s doing the opposite of what it should.”

Stiles’ mobile mouth twisted up funnily as he, too, sat up. He raked a hand nervously through his hair, eyes moving searchingly over Derek’s face as though looking for some answer there. Finally, he dropped his eyes to the bed and spoke, voice little more than a whisper. “I can make my heart do whatever I want. I can...I can do a lot of things you don’t know about. I...I never...”

Stiles’ voice cracked a little and he cleared his throat before saying weakly. “I swore I wouldn’t tell anyone. You have to understand that, Der. I _swore_ I’d protect myself, always, but I...I love you. And I trust you. So...”

That gorgeous face Derek had come to love so dearly tipped up and those big fawn eyes met his. And then, as he watched, black crept over the golden-brown, almost between one blink and the next. And Derek was left looking at eyes with irises so dark of a black it was like staring into an abyss; a _void._ He jerked backwards, heart thundering madly in his chest, and managed to topple right off the bed. Seconds later, Stiles’ head was peering worriedly over the edge of the mattress, eyes once again all sunshine-and-whiskey.

“Are you okay?” The thing wearing Stiles’ skin asked, concern edging its voice. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Derek’s mind was consumed with fear, and self-loathing, and shame. This thing - this vile, unclean thing - was inside the man he loved and clearly had been for at least a little while. He wondered how much of their relationship had been this _creature_ instead of Stiles. Wondered if Stiles had ever liked him at all, or if it had all been a cruel trick played on him by this monstrosity. Wondered if Stiles would ever forgive him for what had happened the night before, when a _demon_ wearing his skin had made love to Derek in a way that was now breaking his heart. How did this kind of thing keep happening to him? How was he _so unable_ to see when evil pretended to love him?

He watched Stiles’ hand come towards him, clearly intent on checking him for injuries, and the only thought in his head was, ‘ _Not again, please...please, god, not again.’_ He jerked back, the words torn from his mouth so desperately it _hurt._ “Don’t touch me!”

Stiles froze, eyes wide and pained. Slowly - so slowly - he pulled his hand back. “Der, I...”

“Don’t.” Derek spat, practically vibrating now with disgust and guilt and mind-numbing terror. And _rage._ Because this thing had violated him, yes, but it was violating _Stiles_ too, and that was unforgivable. “I don’t want to hear anything you might have to say.”

Derek’s claws slid out, his eyes burning red, and he could feel himself starting to lisp around his fangs even as a low and rumbling growl started in his chest. “I’m going to tie you to a chair and you’re not going to fight me, _or else,_ do you understand? Because as much as I’d hate to damage Stiles’ body, I’ll do it if it means restraining _you._ Then I’m going to get rid of you, and I hope to hell it _hurts._ Are we clear?”

~*~*~*~

Stiles mouth moved silently for a long minute, because he hadn’t quite expected this reaction. He debated trying to explain to Derek that he _was_ Stiles. That he wasn’t possessed, he was just...demonic. That he’d been _born_ demonic, and had lived his life that way, and would one day die that way as well. But he doubted Derek would believe him, especially since he’d foolishly admitted to Derek that he could _lie._ So he nodded meekly and went willingly along with it as Derek bound him up with iron chains and sturdy rope and a ring of salt. Not that any of that could hold Stiles for long, if he really wanted to escape, but he let Derek have his small comforts.

Because once Derek realized the truth - that Stiles was, and had always been, just like this - surely everything would be okay. Once Derek understood that nothing had changed but his own perception of who and what Stiles was, they could go back to how they’d been. Only this time, Stiles wouldn’t have to hide any part of himself from the man he loved. He could be _himself._ Strong, and capable, and just as fast and fierce and _other_ as Derek himself. He just had to get through Derek’s doubt. Then, everything would be fine.

~*~*~*~

“He still _smells_ like Stiles.” Scott sounded uncertain, and Stiles had to smile at his best friend’s faith in him. “Are you _sure_ he’s possessed, Derek?”

“He’s sure.” Stiles said before Derek could, and he raised his head to smile at Scott before he let his eyes go dark. A sharp intake of breath was Scott’s only reaction and Stiles blinked away the color a moment later, still giving Scott the same smile he always had just for his best friend. “It’s okay. You guys can perform the exorcism.”

Stiles turned his smile down a little - the one he gave Scott was special, after all - and looked at the rest of the assembled group, which included the whole of the pack, Allison and Chris Argent, and his own father. “It won’t hurt me, I promise. Derek’s _sure,_ but he’s wrong. I’m not possessed and there’s nothing to cast out. But I understand the need to try; to check; to have proof. If our positions were reversed, I’d insist on it myself. So go ahead. I won’t hold it against any of you.”

“Not possessed?” Derek barked out a humorless laugh and stalked closer to the bound teenager even as everyone else shifted a little further away from Stiles. Noah stayed where he was, but he looked twisted up inside in a way Stiles wished he could fix. That would have to wait, though. “You’re joking, right? It’s obvious to everyone here that there’s a demon inside you!”

“Not exactly.” Stiles figured he could explain now, let them do the exorcism - as they would likely insist on it as _proof_ of his words - and then explain again after, when they inevitably accepted the truth and had a ton of questions for him. “I’m a demon. There’s not a demon _inside me._ I _am_ one. I’ve always been one. I was _born_ a demon. You can’t cast me out of my own body, Derek. It’s _mine.”_

“Claudia...” Noah choked on the name, and Stiles’ eyes snapped to his father’s face and the anguish there made him let out a pained sound of his own. It seemed to push Noah to continue. “She said...at the end, I mean, she said you were...that it was...I never _believed,_ but...”

Stiles swallowed hard, averting his gaze for a moment before looking back and giving his dad the most apologetic look he could. It was sincere, after all; he’d _loved_ his mom. “I never meant to hurt her. It’s just...the nature of what I am. Carrying me kick-started the insanity and I...my power was born from her lifeforce and the lifeforce of the...the unborn baby. The one I was made out of.”

There was a pause, tense and long and unpleasant, then Chris spoke. “You’re saying you’re a poroniec.”

Stiles nodded, though he kept his eyes on his dad. “Mom knew what was happening when the baby stopped kicking. She’d grown up on Polish folktales, so of course she knew. She knew when the stillness inside her turned back into kicks - stronger than before - that _I_ had...not replaced her child, because I _am_ her child, but that I had _become._ She knew what I was, and she loved me anyway. Dad, I...I would _never_ have hurt Mom. You know how close we were. How much I loved her. And she loved me, so much that she was willing to sacrifice herself so that I wouldn’t die. That she was willing to let me be _this,_ rather than forcing the both of you to bury a child who’d never gotten to draw breath.”

“If he’s telling the truth...” Chris sounded cautious now, and Stiles looked away from his dad - Noah wasn’t looking at him anyway - to stare at the hunter. “Derek, if he’s a poroniec, then we can’t do anything. He _is_ Stiles. The same Stiles we’ve always known. He was born this way. And if he’s never killed anyone, at least not _intentionally,_ I wouldn’t feel right putting him down.”

“He killed _my wife.”_ Noah managed hoarsely, and Stiles let out a sound like he’d just been punched. His dad still wasn’t looking at him, staring instead at Chris with grief etched into every line of his face. “That’s what he’s saying, isn’t it? It’s what Claudia said when she was dying. That Stiles was killing her.”

“Not deliberately.” Chris replied, and his tone was gentler than Stiles had ever heard it. “And if Claudia knew what Stiles was, she had the chance to save herself by having the child removed from her body _before_ it finished changing. A baptism and proper burial would have stopped the change. But she chose to keep carrying him. She _chose_ to die, so he could live. Sheriff, I’d respect your wife’s decision. He’s your son and she wanted him to live, no matter the cost to her.”

“Dad...” Stiles hated the way his voice cracked, but Noah was looking at him now at least. Stiles let the tears fall, because there was no reason _not to._ “I didn’t do it on purpose. I didn’t _mean_ to die and come back. I didn’t _mean_ to hurt her. I’ve been good, I swear. I never...”

Stiles breath hitched a little on the almost-lie and he corrected himself because if he was being honest than he was _being honest._ “I _almost_ never use my powers. I...I have, a few times, but I...only to _save_ lives. I promise. I’ve never _tried_ to hurt anyone, unless it was to protect other people. Innocent people, like the pack or _you._ Dad, I’m still the exact same person I’ve always been. I’m still your son.”

“Not all monsters do monstrous things.” Lydia said it quietly, and several of the others in the room made soft sounds of agreement. Stiles could have catalogued who was taking his side, if he’d wanted to, but it seemed unimportant in the face of everything.

“I’m performing the exorcism.” Derek snapped, as Stiles had known he would. “It’s _lying._ Stiles is...Stiles is good, and trustworthy, and _not a demon.”_

Chris made a soft humming sound, then shrugged. “You can try. But the odds of him lying about this, given what the Sheriff has contributed to the story, about Claudia...it’s unlikely, Derek. I understand that you need to know for sure, but...I’m pretty certain that’s Stiles you’ve got tied up like that. The same Stiles you’ve been dating, and the same Stiles you’ve known for years, and the same Stiles the good Sheriff and his wife brought home from the hospital a little over eighteen years ago. Maybe start thinking about how you want to deal with that, because you’re probably going to have to.”

Derek just growled and flashed red eyes at Chris. Stiles gave the hunter a weak smile. “It’s okay. Really. Like I said, I’d insist on doing the exorcism too, if things were reversed. When it fails, and everyone’s satisfied I really am _me,_ even if that me isn’t exactly who you all thought it was, I’ll answer any questions I can. I’m sure everyone will have at least a couple.” Stiles shrugged as much as he could, eyes going back to Derek, who had moved towards the necessary components for exorcising demons. “When all this is over, Der, we’ll need to talk about it. But I understand, and I don’t blame you. I love you too much for that.”

Derek’s whole body shivered and the alpha didn’t respond, but Stiles figured that was okay. They’d have plenty of time to talk, after.

~*~*~*~

Derek stared at Stiles in horrified confusion and disbelief. He’d tried _everything._ Chris and Peter had as well, when Derek had reached his wits’ end and was starting to fall apart. The hunter and older werewolf had taken over, performing every cleansing and exorcism they could find, one after another. A couple of them made Stiles’ amber eyes go dark and empty. One made him hiss and bare a mouthful of sharp teeth for a few seconds before he got control of himself, panting around his apologies. But finally, everyone ran out of things to try. And Stiles was still sitting there, bound to a chair, a little shaky and sweaty and tired but still very much the way he’d been when he’d woken up with Derek that morning. The way he’d _always_ been, apparently.

_A demon._

Derek wondered what it was about him that drew evil in. Wondered if Stiles was even capable of the love he claimed to feel for Derek. Wondered if this would end in the death of everyone and everything Derek had ever loved, like it had the _last time_ he’d let something dark and corrupted get close enough to touch him. Wondered what he was supposed to do now.

“Are we done?” Stiles asked softly, and though the words were directed at Chris and Peter - Derek was watching from a small distance and had been for the last couple of hours, so he was sure it wasn’t directed at _him_ \- the alpha could feel Stiles’ eyes on him.

“We’re done.” Chris replied, soft and apologetic. “You’ve been very patient with Derek. I’m sure he’ll appreciate that, when he’s had a chance to process this. It’s a lot to take in.”

Derek let his eyes lock with Stiles for a moment, then he flinched back when the teen’s eyes went dark and the bindings slid off of him with nothing but a thought. “It’s fine.” He spoke quietly, though his body was as restless as ever; shifting in small twitches now that he could move freely again. “I understand. I just want to move past all of this. I’m me, and everyone knows what that means now, so I just...want to move on.”

“You really were _willing,_ weren’t you?” Peter sounded bemused as he watched Stiles stand and stretch, stepping over the salt line without hesitation. Derek scowled at the pleasant tone and the admiration under it. “You could have gotten free whenever you wanted.”

“Of course. You can’t bind a poroniec who’s in their corporeal body, as opposed to one of us in spirit form. Well, I mean, maybe a _witch_ could...” Stiles shrugged a little, face scrunched up the way it always did when he was thinking hard. “I don’t know for sure. It would probably depend on the strength of the poroniec and the strength of the witch, specifically, you know? But yeah. Holding me captive isn’t exactly something easily done.” He frowned for a second, then added lowly. “Though that damned kanima venom did a number on me, obviously. So I guess I could be restrained with _that.”_

Derek hated himself, just a little, for mentally filing that information away. Not only because he shouldn’t _need_ to know how to incapacitate Stiles, but because he shouldn’t _want_ to know. But he did. He wanted to know what it would take to pin Stiles down; to immobilize him; to make him be still. Wanted to know what it would take to make Stiles weak; vulnerable; _helpless._ Wanted to know if it was possible to cage Stiles, just in case; put him somewhere and make him _stay,_ so he could never hurt anyone, ever. Wondered if there was a way to kill Stiles. To put him down. To _end_ the thing he’d thought he loved; the thing he’d been calling _mate_ in his head for weeks now; the thing he’d believed he’d spend his life with.

Wondered if it would just be easier to end _himself,_ because life without Stiles seemed bleak and empty and made something in Derek’s chest ache viciously. But the thought of continuing on _with him_ was enough to turn Derek’s stomach. The fact that Stiles - that a _demon_ \- had been _inside_ him, made Derek want to crawl into the shower and curl up there until the hot water ran cold and stay even then, in the hopes that the water might somehow wash the taint from his skin. From his _soul._ It made him want to claw off his skin. Just shred it off, strip by strip, and let it regrow, fresh and new and _untouched_ by something unclean. It was an urge that wasn’t wholly unfamiliar, as Derek had experienced something similar after Kate had turned his family to ash.

He’d never imagined feeling that way again. Had honestly believed he would never trust someone that much; never let someone close enough. He’d thought he was _done_ feeling this way, forever, because if he didn’t love someone then they couldn't make him feel ashamed _of_ loving them. But he’d let himself love Stiles, convinced that the human boy who ran with wolves and stuck by his best friend through death and torture and all sorts of horror-show crap would _never_ hurt him. Convinced that trusting Stiles was the one recourse open to him. That Stiles was everything he’d convinced himself he didn’t want or need, after Kate, because he couldn't imagine trusting someone again. But Stiles had held him up in a pool for two hours, and Stiles had been willing to chop off Derek’s arm so he wouldn’t die of wolfsbane poisoning, and Stiles had gone toe-to-toe with more things that go bump in the night than any mere human - even a hunter - would conceivably face in their lifetime. So surely Stiles had earned his trust, and his love, and nothing could shake that off.

Except Stiles had _lied._

Stiles wasn’t a weak, vulnerable, easy-to-kill human facing down monsters in the dark, heedless of the danger because nothing mattered more than standing with those he loved. Stiles _was_ the monster in the dark. Was a shadow; a void; a _predator._ Stiles was something so dangerous - so _deadly_ \- that even the humans who didn’t believe in monsters still feared him. Stiles was a _demon;_ the biggest of the bads that lurked in the dark. And Stiles had _lied to Derek_ about it. Had pretended to be something he wasn’t - pretended to be struggling against a vulnerability and weakness and fragility that didn’t exist - until Derek had trusted him. Until Derek had torn down his own walls and defenses, letting Stiles in. Letting him in, in _every conceivable way._

It had all been based on deception, and Derek was left feeling sick and miserable over the whole thing. Because he _loved_ Stiles; of course he did. He loved Stiles more than he’d ever loved Kate, or Paige, or _anyone._ But Stiles wasn’t who he’d believed, and the fact that Stiles was something other than human changed every perception Derek had of his personality and actions. It changed _everything._ And Derek sort of hated him, too. For lying in the first place, and for telling the truth now, and most of all for making Derek love him through it all.

Derek knew Stiles was talking quietly with Chris and Peter, and he couldn't stand it anymore and interrupted. He cleared his throat, loud and aggressive and furious, speaking only when everyone had turned to stare at him. “I want you out of my home, Stiles. _Now.”_

“I...I thought we would talk.” Stiles sounded shocked, and wounded, and _small._ His wide eyes reflected pain and fear and a desperation Derek had no desire to deal with. Not yet. “Der, I-”

“Out.” Derek bit out through clenched teeth, struggling against the urge to flash his eyes red or bare fangs and claws at Stiles. “Get. Out.”

“But I ju-”

“I don’t want to talk!” Derek half-shouted, turning and flipping over an end table in a desperate attempt to quell some of the anguish-fueled-rage building up inside of him. A white ceramic lamp shattered as it hit the floor, and so did two picture frames, but Derek didn’t care. He turned back and glared at Stiles. “Do you understand that? I don’t want to talk to you because every word you’ve ever said to me before this morning was a _lie._ ”

Derek stalked closer, and he knew his eyes were flickering but he couldn't do much about it; was already trying as hard as he could to retain control. But anger hadn’t been his anchor in a long time. Stiles had been...and that was ruined now, like everything else. “I trusted you, I loved you, I considered you my _mate,_ Stiles. And you were lying to me. You were _lying_ and I couldn't even see it, so no, I don’t want to _talk._

“I want you out of my den.” Derek slammed Stiles back into the wall with clawed fingers at the teenager’s throat, fierce and unrelenting. He ignored Chris’ voice protesting in the background; trying to talk Derek down. “I want you away from my pack. I want to forget I ever believed a single thing you said, because right now every breath feels like a goddamned knife between my ribs and _you_ are the one whose hand is on the hilt. I can’t even look at you right now without wanting to rip your throat out, because you violat-”

Derek cut himself off with a trembling breath, releasing Stiles and stepping back so suddenly that the younger man sank down to the floor, trembling and cradling his throat protectively. Like _Derek_ was the monster here, when nothing had ever been farther from the truth. “Get out, Stiles. Get out and don’t come back without a formal invitation, or I won’t be responsible for my reaction.”

Stiles nodded, golden eyes glistening with tears. “I’m sorry.” He offered, and his voice was still small, and young, and it tugged at Derek’s heart viciously. “I never realized I’d love you, so the lie didn’t seem important. Just a way to be safe, to...to keep my promise to my mom. I...I didn’t _know._ I couldn't have known how much it would matter. I never imagined...”

Stiles stopped, shaking his head and climbing carefully to his feet. “I’ll give you space. As much as you need, for as long as you need it. But Derek, this is _all_ I lied about. Powers I never used until a couple of years ago, and then _only_ to help save the lives of our pack. I kept them locked away. I _was_ human, as effectively as Lydia was before Peter bit her and woke the banshee parts of her up. Everything I am - everything I’ve ever been - is still _me._ I’m not false the way you seem to think. And I love you. More than anything, Der, I love you.”

“If I still trusted you, maybe I’d believe that.” Derek replied, turning away from the way Stiles flinched back at the coldness of his tone. “Go away, Stiles.”

He kept staring out the huge bank of windows until after Chris offered Stiles a ride, which Stiles refused - his jeep was downstairs in the parking lot, after all. He kept staring as the hunter followed a demon out of a werewolf’s den, speaking softly and calmly to the creature as though that weren’t unusual at all. Stayed staring - still and quiet and filled with doubts about everything all at once - until Peter spoke from right behind him.

“Can you forgive him?”

Peter’s voice was uncharacteristically soft; gentle. It reminded Derek that this was another person he’d let in and trusted and been manipulated by; been lied to by; been _hurt_ by. He wondered what it was about his heart that made it so easy for people to do this to him. But when he turned to glare at Peter, his uncle looked genuinely concerned. His eyes were dark and wary, and his scent was colored with love and worry in a way Derek couldn't ever remember sensing before. Not even before the fire.

It softened his own voice - and his answer - when he replied. “I love him. Of course I can forgive him. I forgave _you,_ didn’t I?”

Peter made a thoughtful sort of noise in the back of his throat, then tipped his head to the side inquisitively. “ _Will_ you forgive him?”

And that, really, was the crux of the whole thing, wasn’t it? Derek knew he _could_ forgive Stiles. The real question was whether or not he _would._ In the end, Derek gave Peter the only truth he had.

“I don’t know.”

_**~ Fin ~** _


End file.
